Mistake
by Flameofdeath
Summary: Remus's narrative on HOW he got the werewolf bite...RxR please!


Title:Mistake  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Fandom: Nothing that you need to understand it.   
  
Nita's Note: This is a story I just came up with. For Harry Potter fans, I guess you could say it's about Remus talkign about getting a werewolf bite. Personally, I'm currently writing a personal novel (much like soemthing out of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles) about that, but a werewolf. So, it could also be someone there talking about their bite. And if you want, you could bend the story, to make it fit someone talking about getting a vampire bite.  
  
All the same, this story is basically someone telling the audience the story of how they got bit by a supernatural monster and how it impacted them. Please read.  
  
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I remember it like it was just yesterday. At least that's how the expression goes. Of course, it's a lot hazier than that. After all, I was only six years old when it happened.   
  
Mother had told me not to go running. We were near the woods. My father and his friends went hunting. My family was half-blood, and we were proud of it. To be able to have a good perspective of both ways of life was a privilege, said my mother. All the same, they were hunting that day.   
  
I was bored. There was no one my age to play with, and I was tired of sitting around listening to the ladies talk. I was a boy, you know.   
  
So, slowly I went sneaking around, near the edge of the trees. I had no intention of going in, no sir. I wasn't that fearless. But I wanted to get close enough to perhaps scare my mother. But Mother didn't even notice. So, I decided to play my favorite game. Hide and seek.  
  
The worst mistake of my life.   
  
I ran into the woods, lauging and occasionally looking behind me. They'll come, I kept telling myself, I just need to go in deeper. So I did. Suddenly, I heard a small sound. I was pretty deep into the forest, but I wasn't scared. I wasn't old enough to know what being scared was like. At least, mortally afraid. I had assumed it was one of my uncles, and with good reason. It wouldn't be the first time he tried to sneak up on me in a strange quiet place like these woods. And I made the second biggest mistake of my life--I ran towards the sound.   
  
I kept running, hearing the sound get louder. Why wasn't Uncle Philip moving? He usually ran away from me, trying to stifle his laughter. But suddenly it seemed to me, something was very, very wrong. Especially when I saw those eyes. Those big, round, yellow eyes.   
  
The rest is a total blur. I remember running for my life, but in which different, I don't know. I was being chased; yes, I remember that. And there was a big time lapse in between. Maybe I ran some more? Most likely. Either way, my memory picks up at the most painful and memorable event of the whole affair. The bite.  
  
I remember the big white teeth, digging straight into my shoulder. I remember screaming from here to kingdom come. The pain ws unbearable, I couldn't even begin to describe it to you. It was like a poisoned knife entered my body and just wouldn't let go. Or maybe a snake bite, where I felt cold like the Arctic one second, and as hot as a desert the next.   
  
(Now, mind you, I don't exactly know what these feel like. Just speculating on what I've heard and read.)  
  
But all in all, that's what happened. I was bit, a process that probably took just a minute, maybe less, but felt like ages. I felt like I was an old man when my family found me. My mother could have drowned me in her tears. Even the Muggles in my family knew something changed me next time we saw them. I wasn't the prankster, the headstrong, restless little six-year old they all knew and loved. I was an old, old, man trapped in the body of a six-year old. They didn't know me. How would they? Even now, I can't claim to know myself that well, either.  
  
I was a stranger in my own home.   
  
So there you have it. That's how it happened. A terrible ordeal that haunted me day and night. That continues to haunt me. It won't go away, and I doubt it ever will.   
  
If you asked me what was the worst that moment did. I would have told you the obvious answer--It made me what I am. Later, as I matured, I probably would have told you that it took away my humanity. Sure, I could still feel, but it wasn't the same. There was always a malicious side to me. An alter-ego, if you will. But now? Now, I would tell you that it took away something that only as an adult, I can see meant the most to me. My childhood. My playful nature. I never played like a normal child again. I never took walks on my own again. My daily visits to the park suddenly stopped. Everything I used to prize and love were gone. For instance,  
  
I never played hide and seek again.   
  
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Please comment!  
  
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